Page:Poems Douglas.djvu/70

Yet the muse was no discarded;
 Many an hour frae midnicht ta'en
Tell't how he the nymph regarded,
 Deeply worshipped at her fane.

Fu' o' micht as waters rushin'
 O'er the linn, noo soared his lay,
Now dew fresh as roses blushin'
 To the early glance o' day.
E'en the lurkers on Fame's highways,
 Cut-throat bandits, as they're ca'd,
Scourin' e'en the lanes an' byeways
 For the hapless rhymin' squad,

Fierce, on Allan kept frae springin',
 Spellbound by his magic reed,
Whisp'rin aye as he was singin',
 "His is melody indeed."
Sweet, as when a traveller parchin',
 Faint wi' druth an' weary tolil,
'Boon his head the het san scorchin',
 'Neath his feet the burnin' soil,

Sees a bonnie grove afore him,
 Hears far ben a burnie sing,
Feels the breath o' flowers sweep o'er him,
 As he seeks the limpid spring.
Finds sweet soul-revivin' pleasure
 In the breeze, the sward, the shade;
Sae by Allan's ilka measure
 Balm was to the heart conveyed.